


Driving Lessons, or the first time Peter Parker sees Tony Stark have a panic attack

by WhimsicalEthnographies



Series: Up Came the Sun [3]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Come on, Driving, Gen, Nervous Tony Stark, Peter Parker needs to learn to read the room, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, bit of angst, if you haven't figure out who Thor's cat is yet..., post IW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 20:59:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15737235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhimsicalEthnographies/pseuds/WhimsicalEthnographies
Summary: Tony was already nervous, and Peter really needs to learn how to read the room.





	Driving Lessons, or the first time Peter Parker sees Tony Stark have a panic attack

**Author's Note:**

> Back to Peter's POV, with a splash of the Stark Expo story. Always a goodie.
> 
>  
> 
> If you don't mind a blog that consists of shitposting, misunderstanding the memes all the kids talk about today, Johnlock conspiracies, and occasional MCU screaming follow me on the tumblr dot com [whimsicalethnographies](http://whimsicalethnographies.tumblr.com/)

“Kid, I love you and you’re one of my favorite people, but I am not going to die in a 2016 Audi out in Bumfuck, New York.”

“I’m one of your favorite people?” Peter’s head snaps to the side to look at his mentor, who looks like he’s on the verge of a panic attack. A real one, not one of the frequent semi-joking hysterics he pulls out whenever Peter does something he even remotely doesn’t like (Peter has never witnessed a real panic attack). Of course he knows he’s become very important to Mr. Stark, but it’s still a shock and nice to hear it, even after everything.

“Focus on the road!”

“Mr. Stark, I haven’t even turned it on yet.” Peter rolls his eyes at Mr. Stark; he sitting ramrod straight, his right hand tightly gripping the handle above the door. “And we’re at _your_ compound. _And_ this was your idea.”

“It was your aunt’s idea.”

“Not exactly, Mr. Stark. She mentioned driving and you said ‘we can do today, lots of room--.’”

“Yes, yes, and I specifically remember saying it was because there’s less to hit, because this is a two-ton weapon, smart guy,” Mr. Stark shoves his sunglasses on his face, perhaps a bit too rough, because he winces slightly. The sun isn’t even out.

“May was teaching me to drive…” Peter pauses. He still isn’t sure how to refer to the time four years ago but not four years ago. Nobody is. “...before.”

“Yeah, and I’ve seen the security footage of you in that car you stole from that little dickhead at your school.”

“What?” Oh, god. That had not been Peter’s best moment. That whole situation is something he wishes he can wipe from his mind, even if it did turn out in the end. “How?”

“I have eyes everywhere, kid,” Mr. Stark takes a deep breath. “Whereas yours need to stay on the road. Ok, seatbelt on?”

“Yes,” Peter tugs on his seatbelt to demonstrate. 

“Ok, right foot on the brake, turn the car on,” he gestures to the steering console. Peter puts his foot on the brake and turns the key; the car smoothly turns over and hums to life. It’s barely perceptible, nothing like May’s old car.

“May said she uses her left to brake, and right for the gas.”

“Yeah, I’ve been in the car with her, you can tell,” Mr. Stark rolls his eyes. “Don’t tell her I said that. But your left foot should only be used if you have a clutch. Right only for now. We’ll get to clutches when you’re competent in an automatic.”

“Ok, right foot for both,” Peter looks straight ahead and nods to himself.

“Check your mirrors, make sure you can see all around you before moving out of park.”

“Mirrors,” Peter checks his sides, and the rearview, slightly adjusting so he can see with just a flick of his eyes. “Done.”

“Ok, keep your foot on the brake, and put it in drive. DON’T hit the gas yet,” Mr. Stark tightens his grip on the handle, and his left hand--still in a soft brace--presses hard into the center armrest.

“In drive.”

“Ok, lift off and let it idle a few feet, then gently put your foot--GENTLY!” Mr. Stark yelps when Peter accelerates, moving the car faster before he was ready, which probably would have been never. “Jesus Christ, Peter…”

“I know this much, Mr. Stark.” Peter moves down the road, keeping the speed at thirty miles per hour. “See?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s been fifty feet,” he shifts in the leather seat, still ramrod straight. Peter can tell every muscle is clenched in anticipation. “Drive to an intersection, act like it’s a stop sign. Go straight though the first one, then at the next stop, go right, left, right, left, switch back and forth until I tell you to stop. It’ll take us in circles around the compound.”

“Go it.”

“And don’t go above thirty-five yet.”

“Sure thing,” Peter glances up at the rearview mirror like his aunt taught him, even though the entire piece of land is empty. Just in case. He makes it to the first road crossing and stops, waiting for a count of two and pointedly looking both ways before accelerating again. He glances over at Mr. Stark, who still looks like he’s about ready to throw open the door and make a jump for it. He’s starting to feel offended. He once helped Mr. Stark drive a spaceship, thank you very much, although he doubts that’s the appropriate thing to mention right now. But the silence is oppressive, and Peter wracks his brain to find something they’ve never talked about to help Mr. Stark relax.

“You know I met you, before I met you?” 

“Huh?” Mr. Stark’s grip tightens on the armrest. “Speak English, Pete.”

“Like, the first time I really, really met you was when you came to the apartment,” Peter flicks the right turn signal, and slows to a stop at the intersection, deliberately ignoring how Mr. Stark’s right foot looks like it’s subconsciously pumping an invisible brake pedal. “But I kind of met you before, when I was nine. Well, eight and three-quarters.”

“I always forget how babies like to add fractions of years onto their ages,” Mr. Stark’s head whips left and right as Peter starts into the right-hand turn, apparently looking for non-existent traffic. 

“Not a baby,” Peter flicks the signal off, as the curve of the road wasn’t hard enough to deactivate it. He gently presses on the accelerator and picks up to thirty-five miles per hour. He’s doing pretty well, if he were to say so himself. “Anyways, Ben took me to the Expo. May had always worried that I was a fan of Iron Man, but I think Ben was secretly a fan, too, and was just better at keeping secrets. She thought you were a jerk. But Ben always liked computers, he taught me how to build--”

“Remember, go left, up here,” Mr. Stark interrupts him briefly, pointing to the next intersection of road. His hand immediately returns to the handle above the door. “Bring it up to fifty-five on that road.”

“Ok,” Peter flicks the turn signal on again. “ _Anyways_ , we went. He let me wait outside the door for you, since we weren’t able to get tickets to see the opening ceremony. We couldn’t afford them.” He rolls to a stop, looks both ways, then makes the left. This time the signal clicks off on it’s own.

“Jesus, that was a mob scene.”

“Yeah, it was,” Peter follows instructions and slowly pushes the car up to fifty-five miles per hour. This road is wider than the others, and travels away from the main building of the compound, which is growing smaller in the rear view mirror. “But the grown-ups let me and a girl go to the front. I had a plastic Iron Man helmet from Halloween. You signed something for the girl, then you patted my helmet and said, ‘see you buddy.’” He turns to smile at Mr. Stark, who immediately jumps in the seat next to him.

“Hey, eyes on the road,” he snaps his fingers. “In fact, I don’t even know if you should be talking.”

“Sorry!” Peter immediately turns back to the road. It looks to be a straight shot for quite a distance, Peter can barely see where the next intersection is. “It was like, four seconds, but it was the greatest day of my life. Iron Man called me ‘buddy!’”

“I thought you didn’t like my nicknames,” out of the corner of his eye, Peter sees Mr. Stark crack what could almost be called a smile.

“I was like, nine, Mr. Stark,” Peter rolls his eyes.

“Eight and three-quarters, I thought. And no rolling your eyes while driving,” Mr. Stark takes off his sunglasses. “So we met before we met, huh. And you were just as easy to impress, then.”

“Yeah,” Peter drums his fingers on the wheel. “But that wasn’t the only time. I met you _again_ before I met you.”

“Did you and your Uncle stalk me?” Mr. Stark teases. “Was Happy worse at his job than I ever knew?” He sounds considerably calmer than he did a few minutes prior, which was Peter’s goal.

“Heh, no. At the Expo.”

“I wasn’t at the Expo again, kid. Did you meet one of my many devoted cos-players?”

“You weren’t, but Iron Man was,” Peter smiles to himself. He knows the memory should be terrifying, and objectively it is now that he’s older and understands what actually happened. But it’s still not. “The night with the drones.”

“Wait--what?”

“Yeah,” Peter laughs to himself. “We were being evacuated, and somehow I got separated from Ben. He’d just bought me toy repulsers--do you remember those? They were gloves with blue lights on the palms, probably not--and I had them on, with my helmet. And I guess one of the drones scanned me as Iron Man, ‘cause it came over--”

“Oh my god.”

“--and I was just a stupid kid, you know?” Peter shrugs to himself, because he really was. May constantly reminds him of all the over-eager, usually adorable mistakes he made as a child that could have ended in disaster. “Who apparently didn’t know the repulsers weren’t real, so I held up one hand thinking I could shoot him, and--”

“Kid…”

“--and then he exploded, and I looked up and you’d just landed beside me, and then you said ‘nice work, kid,’ and flew off, and I--”

“Pull over, kid,” Mr. Stark stammers.

“What? Mr. Stark…” Peter glances over at him, shocked to see his eyes about to bug out of his head. He’s breathing heavily; Peter can hear the wind whistling in and out of his lungs. Uh oh.

“Peter. Pull. Over.”

“Ok, ok...um,” Peter quickly does as he’s told, bringing the car to a stop on the shoulder of the empty road and putting it in park. “Mr. Stark?”

He doesn’t look any better; both hands are braced against the dashboard and his eyes are squeezed shut. The air is still whistling loudly in and out of his lungs, skipping slightly every third or fourth breath. “Fuck.” 

“Mr. Stark, are you--”

“That was--that was you?!”

“Yeah, like I said, Ben--”

“FU--” he can’t get the word out as his breath catches in his throat.

“Are you…”

“Oh fuck,” Mr. Stark violently rips his seatbelt off and throws the door open, all but falling out of the car into the dirt on the side of the road. Now Peter is sure he’s seeing Mr. Stark have a panic attack, and real one. He’s not sure why, he’d seemed to have calmed down a bit, or at least as much as Mr. Stark was capable of.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter removes his own seatbelt and jumps out of the car, scurrying around to the passenger side. He’s sitting against the side of the car, knees to his chest, head hanging in front of him. His hands are shaking, and Peter can hear his heart racing. “Mr. Stark?” He’s not sure what to do; Mr. Stark has told him he gets panic attacks, mostly while trying to talk Peter out of his own break-downs, but he’s never seen one before. “Mr. Stark?” He tries again, kneeling down in the dirt beside him. He reaches out slowly. “Tony?”

“Gah!” Mr. Stark jumps as soon as Peter touches his arm, his entire body slamming back into the side of the car. His eyes jump around frantically, and Peter knows he’s trying to find something he can focus on to ground himself. His face pulls into a grimace when he doesn’t find anything satisfying--the compound itself is behind them, and the land out here is flat and empty.

“Look at me, Mr. Stark,” Peter can hear his own voice shake as he takes his mentor’s shaking right hand. The sound of his breathing and thundering heart are making his own chest hurt, and Peter can feel his own panic starting to build. _No, no, no. Not about you right now_.

“Ugh,” Mr. Stark grunts and forces a breath out, but he looks up at Peter. He’s only ever seen fear like that on his face once before, on Titan, when Peter tripped towards him with legs that were disintegrating. The panic swelling in his own gut grows a little.

“Take deep breaths, Mr. Stark. Like I’m doing.” Peter gestures to himself and takes an exaggerated breath, holding it for a few moments before slowly blowing it out. Just like Mr. Stark taught him.

“I-I got it, kid,” Mr. Stark nods, exasperated. Not with Peter, he doesn’t think, but with himself. “Just s-sit so I can focus. Shit.”

“Ok,” Peter sits back on his heels and watches Mr. Stark’s face, fighting the urge to look down at the ground and give the man some privacy while his brain and body rebel. It’s incredibly uncomfortable to watch, and he feels a wave of gratefulness to Mr. Stark wash over him, for all the times he’s helped Peter through the bad moments over the past month. “In and out.”

“Yeah.”

After what feels like forever, Mr. Stark’s shoulders slump down and he motions for Peter to sit beside him against the car. He keeps his grip on Peter’s hand, but it loosens, and it sounds as if maybe his heart rate is dropping, a little. He’s breathing more easily but it still sounds as though the air is skipping in his chest.

“Kid,” he still sounds breathless. “If you have any other stories about you almost dying that you plan on telling me, please make sure I’m sedated first,” he inhales slowly. “Especially if it’s my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Mr. Stark. It’s just that Peter Parker Luck, tee-em.” Peter settles on the ground next to him, back pressed against the car.

“‘Tee-em?’ Trade-mark? Did you just say that out loud? No, don’t answer that.” He shakes out his left hand and clears his throat. “You ok, kiddo? You were getting a little shaky there, too.”

“I’m fine, Mr. Stark,” he hesitates, unsure how best to not increase the discomfort of the situation. “Are you?”

“I will be. Just let me have a few minutes.”

“Ok. Should I--?” He makes to let go of his hand and stand up, but Mr. Stark stops him.

“No, no. Stay,” he awkwardly lifts his arm around Peter’s shoulder without letting go of his hand. He closes his eyes and continues breathing slowly, deeply. “You left the car running.”

“Huh?”

“The car,” Mr. Stark squeezes his hand. He exhales hard, and his breath sounds smoother now. “You left it on.” Peter watches as he lets his head fall back against the side of the car with a *thunk.* “Always turn the car off when you’re not in the driver’s seat.”

“Oh.”

“‘ _Oh._ ’”

“Still, I didn’t do bad.”

“No, you did good,” Mr. Stark jostles his shoulder. “Until you started running your mouth. Can’t wait to hear what near-death-experience you’re gonna tell me about when I show you how to shave.”

“Mr. Stark, I’m seventeen, I already know how to shave,” Peter rolls his eyes and smiles up at him. “I shaved this morning.”

“Lies. Spider-babies don’t shave.”

“Still not a baby, Mr. Stark.”

“No, guess you’re not,” he lets out another long sigh. “Thanks, Pete. Not for the story though. Nope.”

“You know it works both ways, Mr. Stark,” Peter stares straight ahead. “That call button.”

“It shouldn’t have to. You’re the kid, kid.”

“Still,” Peter shrugs. “I like helping people. It’s my brand.”

“Right up there with almost getting yourself killed. You should trademark that, too. I’ll get my lawyers on it.”

“Haha, Mr. Stark. Thanks for saving me then, while we’re at it.”

“And I’ll thank you to never go up against a drone without a suit.”

“I’ll try, Mr. Stark.”

“Alright,” Mr. Stark takes another deep breath, then lets go of Peter’s hand and sits up straight, resting his elbows on his knees. “I think that’s enough for today.”

“Yeah, I kinda want to fall asleep on the couch for the rest of the afternoon,” Peter pushes himself to a crouch, waiting to see if Mr. Stark is going to follow him.

“The other part of your brand,” he reaches out. “Help me up, kid.”

 

Peter reaches down and pulls them both up to standing. Mr. Stark is still a bit shaky, but he seems alright when he lets go of his hand. It reminds Peter too much of when he helped him up on Titan, after he’d been stabbed by a madman with his own tech. He shakes the feeling of dread away; the last thing Mr. Stark needs right now is to deal with _him_ melting down.

“Why don’t we fly back?” Mr. Stark shuts the passenger door then slowly makes his way around the car to the driver’s side, reaching in through the open door to turn it off and pocket the key. “I don’t know if I can handle another traumatic driving lesson.”

“Um, sure thing, Mr. Stark,” Peter looks down at the metal band around his wrist that houses his new suit. He still hasn’t tried it yet. Might as well be now, right?

“Remember what I said?” Mr. Stark closes the door, then pushes the button on the key fob to lock it. The car beeps loudly twice as he walks back around to where Peter is staring at his wrist.

“Y-yeah. Twice for the suit.”

“Then hop to it,” he smacks a firm grip on Peter’s shoulder. “Well make a pitstop at that store off I-287, get some of that ice cream you like. I think Thor’s weird cat ate the rest of it last night.”

“You know that’s not actually a cat, right Mr. Stark?”

“Yeah, my brain just isn’t ready to process it yet. Suit up kid.”

Peter nods firmly to himself, then looks up at Mr. Stark and nods to him. He taps the watch-face twice right as Mr. Stark taps the housing unit on his chest. Warmth spreads up his arm, and Peter can’t help but smile at the feeling, being encompassed in armor that Mr. Stark made for him. 

“I put a new car air freshener in there, I know how much you love it,” Mr. Stark’s voice changes mid-sentence to the tinny voice of Iron Man as his own suit encloses his face. 

“Thanks Mr. Stark!” There’s a _woosh_ of air as Peter’s face is covered in nanomaterial, and a familiar voice in his ear.

“Hello, Peter.”

“Hi Karen! I missed you!” The suit doesn’t feel as oppressive as Peter was afraid it would. It feels like home.

“I missed you, too, Peter,” Karen’s soft voice feels like safety in his head. “Your webshooters are set to default. In fifteen seconds I will be connected to Mr. Stark’s suit.”

“Thanks, Karen,” Peter flexes his wrists and looks at his webshooters; his HUD display shows there are now 657 different varieties. “Is there an instruction manual for this, Mr. Stark?”

“We’ll run through the tutorial, kid. We’re also going to go over some enemy engagement rules, while we’re at it.” The clouds from earlier have parted a bit, and the sun glints off the gold on the suit. “Those sticky fingers ready?”

“Yessir,” Peter mock salutes. “Go really fast, ok?”

“Just hang on, Top Gun,” Mr. Stark wraps a metal arm around Peter waist; the Iron legs pop out of his back and anchor themselves to his suit right as he shoots them up into the sky.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Really, Pete, READ THE ROOM.
> 
> This one is a bit shorter. Also, what's a plot?


End file.
